Harry Potter and the Secret of Erised
by The Brat Prince
Summary: Harry's about to start his sixth year at Hogwarts, but the events of the past still haunt him. Chapter 3: Short, but sweet. Draco teaches Harry the things he needs to know, only occasionally wondering why he's an insufferable git.
1. Default Chapter

**Harry Potter and the Secret of Erised**

_Chapter 1:What Goes Around Comes Around _

By: The Brat Prince~ Jondy Macmillan 

Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to JKR and Warner and who ever else decided to buy into it. If I owned it, well, better not to think of that right now.

A/N: I started with serious misgivings about this fic. I know that's a horrible way to introduce it, but it's the truth. I usually do not write novel length fics (not originals) due to the waste of time (copyright infringement), but this one just came to me. Plus, this has het couples. I used to consider myself a snobby, elitist slash-writer only, although in the early days of my fic writing, I wrote het. So far, I like this though, and I hope it turns out well. Expect a few common couples and a few that you didn't expect. I will be making use of an alternate universe, and if that's going to bother you, feel free to stop reading. Oh, I also have to mention that I run off reviews. If I don't get at least one review per chapter, I usually won't continue. ^^ I'm easily discouraged. So R+R, please. 

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                Rainbow colored light filtered through the dirty glass windowpanes that lined the attic of number four, Privet Drive. Corroded cardboard boxes, warped from the passage of time and a bad leak in the roof sat on the cool hardwood floor, oblivious of the sweltering July heat. And scattered in the shadowed corner niche that the youngest member of the house had secured for himself were several old black and white photographs, half blurred from long past fallen tear drops and a few traces of smeared blood.

                Sixteen year-old Harry Potter had thought nothing of it when his relatives, the Dursleys, had told him to clean the attic up. He knew they were trying to get rid of him so that their only son, Dudley could enjoy his birthday party, which was really a get together for all the local delinquents of England. Harry didn't really mind missing the party, he had never cared to attend in the first place.

 It really wasn't his place to even snicker at Dudley's misguided antics when the one person he loved most was gone. Recently, his godfather, Sirius Black, had passed on in a most unusual way. He had been murdered by his own cousin, at the orders of one the rest of Harry's world called You-Know-Who. No one else grieved for Sirius, because Harry was all he had. In fact, most of the world still thought of him as a vicious killer. Only a few members of the wizarding community knew the truth. Yes, as in wizards, witches, and magic. 

Harry Potter was not a normal boy, you see. In fact, he was a wizard, like his mother and father before him. They had been killed by another, more sinister wizard named Lord Voldemort, or You-Know-Who, who had terrorized the wizarding world for over a decade. No one had ever survived Voldemort's attacks until Harry. He had only been a baby when it happened of course, but somehow, some mysterious force had caused him to survive the killing curse Voldemort had put on him, and simultaneously banished the evil wizard to some barren corner of the earth. Everyone thought he was gone for good. 

For eleven years Harry had been ignorant of his magical heritage. Then, one day, he had received a letter from Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, telling him that he had been accepted to the prestigious academy. A lot had happened that year, including the discovery that Voldemort was alive, although not doing too well. He had been haunted by the memory of the wizard throughout his second and third years, and come face to face with him in his fourth. That encounter had ended in the death of a fellow student. His last meeting with Voldemort had resulted in Sirius's death. Now, Harry was about to begin his sixth year at Hogwarts, with all the signs of more death on the horizon. He didn't think he could stand it. 

Throughout the summer, Sirius's final words had haunted Harry. He had taunted Bellatrix, toyed with her when death stood behind him. Sirius had thought he was invincible, just as Harry's friends seemed to think Harry himself was. Harry alone seemed to realize that nothing in this world was permanent. Sirius had shown him that. Yet now Dumbledore expected him to kill or be killed? All he wanted was to rest, and enjoy the time he had been given. For Harry Potter was not, and swore he never would be, a killer. One look at the moldy attic had drowned his hopes of getting a peaceful day's rest. Then he stumbled upon the box.  

                It had been labeled inconspicuously; small, unfamiliar handwriting scrawled lightly in black ink and reading 'old photos'. Assuming that they were more of his Aunt Petunia's multitude of Dudley's baby pictures, he had skipped opening it, instead choosing to rewire the broken light fixture above him. As he really had no intentions of cleaning the attic, but no will to go back downstairs and partake in Dudley's mundane festivities, Harry proceeded to do his only intended task of the day and fixed the light. He opened an old boxes of old clothes, baby items that both Dudley and he had worn out, enjoying their musty smell. The gentle, steady stream of morning light emitted from the fresh bulb and through the dust blackened windows lulled him to sleep, dancing over his head in a spectrum of unimaginable colors.

However, as the day wore on, his eyes were forced open by the steadily increasing bullets of sweat tracing wavy paths down his forehead and coming to rest on the curve of his eyelashes. The mid-afternoon heat was unbearably heavy, almost a tangible weight on his chest. That moment, right before he really woke up, right before his eyelids flicked open was when he felt the box calling to him. He was not one to ignore the voice. The box called to him again, and unconsciously he moved to respond.

In an instant, he was at its side, fingering the hurried, slanted, curves of the words on the side of the box. Almost desperately, he ripped the box open, eyes falling to rest on almost a dozen black leather bound books; photo albums, the first's title covered in a soft, silky spider web. It contained no pictures of Dudley, as he had assumed, but of his aunt and uncle's wedding, a candid affair. Aunt Petunia looked punch drunk, despite her high collared, stiff backed dress, and Uncle Vernon didn't seem to have changed a bit, except for the development of a few extra pounds a more than a couple gray hairs over the years. 

Bored, Harry skipped the rest of the book, and the next one, and the next one, pausing to rest his hand on the cover of the fourth in the box. Unfortunately, it was just pictures of Aunt Petunia, albeit much younger and wearing something that looked suspiciously like a sincere smile. In one she held a tennis trophy, trussed up in a white skirt and golf-tee, in another she clung to the arm of a solemn-faced boy, obviously ready for some sort of formal dance. Although amusing, it was of no use to him, and he again set the book aside. 

The fifth album proved to be much more productive. Harry was gifted with a few muggle (non magical) images of his mother as a young girl for the first time. Not that he had many pictures of her as a woman either. Actually, as far as muggle pictures went, he didn't have a single one. They were mostly images of Lily and Petunia Evans in their early youth, as his mother had left for Hogwarts at age eleven as well, and been estranged from Petunia from then till her death. It seemed that Aunt Petunia had a few anger management problems, evidenced by the fact that the majority of the pictures had Lily's head covered in permanent black marker. Harry could have easily lifted the stains had he been allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts. Which was not the case. Since the end of the school year, he hadn't really been sure he wanted to ever use it again. Magic, for him, seemed to mean bad things for other people. 

There were a few photos though; one of his mother as a baby, cradled in Aunt Petunia's tiny toddler arms with their mother, a kind faced woman with soft auburn hair swept back in a severe bun kneeling beside them. He assumed it was his grandmother at any rate, having never seen her before. Another depicted Lily and Petunia around ages six and eight lying in a flower garden, both covered in dirt and brandishing spades much too large for their tiny hands. The third of the bunch was a family portrait; his aunt and mother and grandmother gathered around a grand birthday cake laughing, as well as a clean cut man he supposed was his grandfather. Oddly the picture had no effect on him, at least not in the bitter way pictures of his mother had in the past. He had almost accepted the fact that his parents were gone, because unlike Sirius, they had never been there in the first place for him. 

Closing the album, Harry dug deeper in the box, emptying it of all its contents. There was nothing there. Something had been calling him, but whatever it was wasn't in the box. It was in one of the albums. He picked up the last one, a black affair with gold script writing and a heavy layer of dust coating the surface. A small, yet surprisingly heavy iron lock secured the book's entries. The curly letters on the front cover formed the words '_Untouchable'_. Weird thing to name an album. The word almost reminded him of the unspeakables, people who worked in the Ministry of Magic, in a department that contained all the mysteries in the known world. The Department of Mysteries, of course, was where Sirius had met his end. 

Firmly, he grabbed a pin lying on the floor near him. He was incredibly adept at picking locks the non-magical way, due to his best friend's mischievous brothers. They had determined that it was always prudent to know the muggle way in these types of things. It only took a second. The lock fell to the creaky wooden floor with a loud 'thunk'. Flipping open the cover, Harry found the first page to be thin tissue, over which was written a single phrase; Nothing Is Untouchable Except For Those We Leave Behind. 

"What in the world does that mean," Harry asked himself, but inside, he thought he already knew. Resolutely, he turned the next page, but the tiny black script blurred in front of his eyes, and he never did make out what it said. That day, Harry Potter found the book that would change his world. Whether the change would be for the better or for the worse was an entirely different matter. 


	2. Role Reversal

Harry Potter and the Secret of Erised 

_Chapter 2: Role Reversal_

_By: Jondy Macmillan (Moony)_

A/N: When we last left Harry, he was falling into a book. Again. He likes doing that. Let's see what happens now. *rubs hands together evilly* Fun fun. But remember, don't own Hogwarts or any of the characters in it. 

            "Harry. Harry, wake up," a gentle voice, accompanied by a soft hand stroking his forehead stirred him from his sleep. Not enough to open his eyes, but he recognized the feel of warm skin against his face and registered the sweet voice that called to him, "Harry, come on. You're going to be late."

                In response, Harry made a contented noise and rolled over. It didn't bother him at all that he didn't know who was speaking. He knew a good thing when he heard it. Whoever was talking to him was not Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, Ron, Hermione, or Oliver Wood, all of whom loved to torture him into the waking world. This person seemed a goodly, kind soul who might let him rest a little longer. 

                Wrong. With a heavy breath, the person yelled at the top of their lungs, "Harry Potter! Get your butt out of bed this instant!"

                Starting, Harry rolled over once more, right off the bed he'd been so comfortable in, "Wha- eh- argh!"

                Now the voice was laughing at him, "Smooth move, kiddo."

                Harry looked up. It couldn't be. He knew that face. He'd even heard that voice before, although never in normal conversation. Only her screams. Blinking, Harry muttered, "Mom?"

                Sternly, the pale, redheaded woman before him chided, "Don't 'mom' me. You're late. At this rate, you'll miss the train and your father and I will be stuck with you for the rest of the year. Well, the week, at least. You know how Professor Dumbledore is about those things."

                 "M-mom," Harry stumbled over the word, trying to figure out if the apparition before him was some kind of elaborate hoax or the real thing. 

                "Yes, yes, you've said that dear," smiling brightly, Lily handed him a uniform, "Put this on, and we'll walk to the station."

                "W-what about Aunt Petunia? And Uncle Vernon?" Harry demanded, wondering how his relatives felt about the ghost of Lily Potter walking around their house. Except this wasn't the Dursleys' house. He was in a large room, painted blue and orange, the colors of some Quidditch team he couldn't quite recall the name of. Posters, both magical and non-magical decorated the walls. Framed pictures hung alongside posters of the Weird Sisters and the Chudley Canons. One of the photos depicted a very oddly dressed group of boys wearing black eyeliner moving and laughing with an inaudible beat, "Wait- is that dad? And Sirius? Pettigrew? And Rem-"

                Lily cut him off, "Harry! You know better than to speak Remus Lupin's name in this house."

                "But you just did," he protested.

                "That's different," Lily gave him a strange look, "Are you feeling alright? First inquiring about your Aunt and Uncle when you did just see them last week. I thought you weren't over that vicious row you had with your cousin. And then asking about Lupin? Oh, my little boy! Are you feverish."

                "Mom, I'm sixteen. Don't call me a little boy," he told her before he could help it. It was amazing how naturally the words came, "I'm not sick."

                "If you say so," Lily glanced at a clock on the wall, "Bugger. Harry, get dressed quickly. You'll have to eat breakfast on the run."

                "Lily? Have you got him up then?" A new face peeked through the doorway, "About time, sunshine." James Potter grinned mischievously.

                "Guys, I can't get dressed with you watching," Harry interjected, even though he was taking in every inch of both Lily and James's faces. 

                "He's right," Lily said thoughtfully, shooing her husband out the door, "Hurry now Harry."

                When she had shut the door behind her, Harry fell back onto his bed. His mom had been standing in this very room, his room, presumably. His dad had smiled at him. Was this some trick of Voldemort's? What in the world was going on?

                Harry dressed as fast as he could, pausing only when he noticed the logo embroidered into his robes, "No way. Slytherin?"

                Tentatively, he threw on the robe, resolving to ask his parents about it later. His parents were alive! It must have something to do with that weird photo album, he thought. He didn't have time to pursue the thought further, because Lily had already returned, "Come on, silly. Your trunk's already downstairs."

                In a dreamlike state, Harry managed to follow his should-be-deceased mother's instructions, wolfing down a hearty breakfast a la Mrs. Wealsey, laughing at his also-should-be-dead father's ministry jokes, especially those that involved Sirius (Sirius was alive? And apparently a desk jockey in the magical entertainment department. He dealt with testy fashion designers, according to James), and following them out the door, into the car, and out again when the reached King's Cross. Harry was so disoriented by then that he forgot to ask altogether about the Slytherin tie. 

                "Goodbye honey," Lily gushed, hugging him tightly and letting his father do so in turn. 

                "Uh- bye. Mom. Dad. Um," before he could give it a second thought, he hugged them both tightly again. 

                "Behave yourself son," James said, a twinkle in his eye.

                "You never did," Harry retorted, examining his father one more time.

                "See," Lily scolded, "I told you we shouldn't have let Sirius tell him all those stories about your day in Hogwarts."

                "As I recall," James responded, wrapping an arm around his wife's waist, "You were in on a few of those stories."

                "Prat," she replied affectionately, waving Harry off.

                Clambering onto the train, determined to find Hermione and Ron so that they could cook up some explanation for the day's events, Harry ran smack dab into his least favorite person in the world.

                "Malfoy," he hissed.

                "Potter," Draco sneered, "What's the matter? Missing mommy and daddy already?"

                "N-" Before Harry could think up a suitable and witty rejoinder, Draco put an arm around his shoulders, laughing. Harry froze.

                Breaking into a smile, Draco exclaimed, "Good to see you, mate! How are the old Potters, anyhow? Your dad looked well, but then, mum's told me he's doing all right. I'm surprised, after that jinx he accidentally put on himself back in June."

                "He-what?"

                "Yeah, and let me tell you, your mom gets hotter every time I see her," Draco continued, guiding him down the train hall to an empty compartment. 

                "She- don't say that about my mom," Harry commanded, absolutely flabbergasted at this startling development. Since when had Draco Malfoy been nice to Harry Potter? It was like, a karmic law that things like this weren't allowed. If he hadn't suspected Voldemort in this whole ordeal previously, he sure did now. Suspiciously, Harry said, "Why are you being nice? Doesn't this seem weird to you?"

                "Chill, Potter, chill. It's all good between us. Don't tell me you're still sore about Pansy? That old cow is so old news. I mean, I know you fancied her, and that it was wrong of me to steal her from you, but we did break up over the summer. It was just a fling," Draco said nonchalantly.

                "N-no. I'm not mad about," he gulped, "Pansy. She er- wasn't really my type." Inside, his mind was screaming 'I went out with Pansy Parkinson?' How twisted.

                "Oh good," Draco leaned back, "What's the problem then?"

                Harry groaned. He was about to explain the many levels of how his befriending Draco Malfoy was a karmic no-no when a new voice intervened, "There you guys are."

                Breathing in, Harry felt relief flood his body as Hermione Granger entered the chamber and demanded in an excited tone, "Did you get yours yet?"

                Draco looked curious, "What?"

                "Your letter, Draco," she said exasperatedly. Harry noticed her robes weren't from Gryffindor either. Instead, she wore Ravenclaw colors. She looked different, too. Her hair was shorter, ear length, and she had an awful lot of makeup on. 

                "Oh," Draco raised an eyebrow, "That? I got it. I tore it up."

                "You what?" Hermione screeched, "How could you? This is the best opportunity we've had in a while. Since four years ago, in fact."

                "What happened four years ago?" Harry wondered.

                Hermione and Draco both gave him appraising looks. Finally, Hermione snapped, "Are you bent Potter? Remember? That giant arse, Longbottom vanquished the Dark Lord."

                "He what?" Harry felt his forehead to make sure his scar was still there and Hermione really had developed a sense of humor. Even though she sounded rather mean, "Do you have a mirror?"

                "Hunh? Worrying about your fashion sense, Potter? Finally?" Draco chuckled, throwing him a compact that he had fished out of Hermione's bag. 

                "Hey. Guys aren't supposed to go into girls' purses," Hermione protested. 

"You're not a girl," Draco retorted. 

Ignoring his two (apparently) friends, Harry clicked open the compact. Trelawney's prophecy echoed in his ears. It was true. His scar was gone, and he was sure that if he found Neville, it would be on the other boy's forehead. Poor Neville. Harry would never have given the other boy his curse. But Hermione had said Neville vanquished Voldemort. Had he killed him? Had Neville achieved what Harry could not? A new thought arose. Had Neville's sacrifice brought his parents back?

"Find out if you're pretty enough, Potter?" Hermione asked sweetly.

"Gorgeous," Draco whisked away her mirror, pausing to check his own reflection then dropping it back into her purse.

"So, did you recover from your temporary memory lapse? Can you tell me now if you got your letter?" Hermione demanded waspishly.

"Letter?" 

"Oh, for Pete's sake," lowering her voice, Hermione explained, "the letter from Blaise Zabini's father. Requesting that we join his ranks as the new death eaters."

He was tempted to shake her and find out where his Hermione was hiding. His Hermione would never have made such cruel remarks about Neville or consorted with death eaters. Instead he said calmly, "I thought Neville killed Voldemort."

Both jumped, "Don't say the Dark Lord's name."

Harry was now incredibly confused, "Okay. But…"

"Well, he did," Draco was rolling his eyes, "But not without help from Remus Lupin. Surely you remember."

"Er-yeah. I was just kidding. But- Remus is organizing death eaters with Blaise Zabini's dad?" So sue him, he didn't get it.

"Blaise's dad is organizing them for Remus," Hermione exclaimed frustradedly, "He's going to do what the Dark Lord couldn't and purify the wizarding world. Half-breeds and Mudbloods beware."

"But Remus is a werewolf! Doesn't that make him a half-breed? And you're muggle born," Harry accused.

"Harry, when did you get so dense? He's going to purify us. Make us whole. Those who rebel against him, well," Hermione drew a finger against her throat, "By all this, I take it you didn't get a letter. I figured as much. After all, your parents being the goody two shoes they are."

Defensively, Harry retorted, "Draco tore his up."

"Only because he's loyal to his father," she cast him a dirty look, "Lucius has been in Azkaban for the past five years. He wasn't careful enough. Neville caught him trying to sneak a diary belonging to the Dark Lord into one of the Weasley terror's cauldron."

Draco chose not to say anything in his father's defense. Harry was starting to get the feeling that he would rather be stuck in a room with Draco Malfoy than with Hermione at this point. Shrugging, Draco put in, "It's a matter of principle, is all."

"I guess," Harry nodded, letting words flow to his lips with the same ease as they had that morning, "I think mum and dad would ground me for a zillion years if I decided to join your neo-nazi death eater group." 

"Up to you," Hermione snarled, standing, "Even though you obviously can't recognize the importance of our cause. One day, you'll be begging me to initiate you."

"Hold up, Granger. You're initiated already?" Draco was grabbing at her arm, presumably to check for the dark mark.

"Day after tomorrow," she replied smugly. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the compartment.

Shaking his head, Draco said, "She used to be such a nice girl."

"Yeah, helping house elves and everything," Harry said absently, watching her retreating back.

"Hunh?" 

"Never mind, Malfoy. Never mind."


	3. Everybody Gets As Far As They Go

Harry Potter and the Secret of Erised Chapter 3: Everybody Gets As Far As They Go 

A/N: Wow, chapter 1 and 2 have more reviews than Giddy Brew is ever going to get. Amazing. Okay, well far more if Serendipity didn't give me two or so reviews per chapter, anyway. Actually, someone at her Gaia online site pointed something out. Giddy Brew would be better if there was a story aside from the romance line- but I've noticed when writing original pieces, I have trouble tearing myself from mushy crap. I suppose that's because I'm a closet romantic as Fish claims. I think its because I'm so used to writing slash. This story seems devoid of any romantic junk, for the moment. For the moment being the key words. 

***

            The train was only an hour from the castle, now. The food cart had come and gone, and Harry was more confused than ever. Already, he had discovered that not only had he dated Pansy Parkinson, but together, he and Draco had been out with over half the school. And he still couldn't find Ron, who he was sure would clarify everything. 

                Every time Harry went to search for the redhead, Draco pulled him back into the compartment so Harry could 'reunite' with some friend he'd never even known he'd had. Oddly enough, Crabbe and Goyle were not among those ranks. Even more strange, the Patil twins, Alicia Spinnet, and Roger Davies were.

                "Draco?" he asked lethargically, as the blonde had just basically shoved ten chocolate frogs down Harry's throat. It was hard to work up the effort to open his eyes now, much less talk.

                "Hmm?" Draco sounded, equally sated from the sweets.

                "Well, I hate to ask, but," Harry paused, "Where are Crabbe and Goyle?" He had refrained from asking about several people, up till now, including Ron and Neville, seeing as the other boy apparently had too many enemies.

                Propping himself up against the cushion, Draco demanded, "What's up with you Potter? First you go all freaky on my being your friend, and now your asking about a dead man and one of Longbottom's lackeys. Why don't you start asking about Weasley, or that goody-goody Finnegan."

                "Hunh? I don't know what you're talking about," Harry replied pompously. Pomposity, he'd learned, was one of the only ways to deal with Draco, "So…who's dead? Crabbe or Goyle. I always forget…"

                Draco whistled, "That's low, Potter, even for you. Vincent is the one who croaked, in second year, remember? You used to be pretty good friends with Gregory, before Vince died. Then he went all psycho-good doer, and you dropped him like a dime."

                "I never did understand that expression," Harry said absently, "Why would you drop a dime. I don't know much about American money, but I figure no one would want to waste a perfectly good ten cent piece."

                "You think too much, Potter, it's your downfall with the ladies," Draco grinned, "Which reminds me," he withdrew a letter from the robes they'd just recently put on, "One of those Gryffindor girls, Hannah, I think her name was, gave me this at the beginning of hols, but I seem to have forgotten to give it to you."

                "Hannah Abbott?" Harry remembered Hannah to be a slightly plump blonde Hufflepuff with a quirky nose, "She's in Gryffindor?"

                "Well, you'd expect her to be, wouldn't you? Parents being who they are," lazily, Draco tossed the letter to him, "I think she likes you."

                "Wait, what do you mean, parents being who they are?" Harry asked, crinkling his forehead in a very unattractive manner. Were they some sort of heroes as well?

                "Potter, honestly, tell me if you've been sniffing your mum's magnolia seeds again. I tell you, they mess with your mind," Draco sighed, "They're the Minster of Magic and Supreme Council Head."

                "I knew that," Harry laughed skittishly, trying to hide the fact that he most definitely had not known, "I was just, um, yanking your chain."

                Draco cast him a somewhat disdainful but ultimately blank look, "Potter…I don't have a chain."

                "Sorry, muggle expression," he offered his 'friend' a tiny grin of apology.

                "Ha, like you know any muggles aside from that halfbreed Granger," Draco laughed, "Good joke."

                "Sure, Malfoy, whatever you say," clenching his fist, Harry stood, "I want to stretch my legs."

                "Oh. I fancy a walk as well," the smaller boy scrambled up, collecting himself.

                Gee, Harry thought, I don't recall inviting you. But of course, he couldn't say this out loud because, as of yet, Draco Malfoy had been the only person offering him any information on this strange world. Still, didn't he have prefect duties to attend to or something? No badge, better not to ask and get weirder looks than he already was. So instead, he listened to Draco start, "Oh, and, back to Hannah. If you don't go after her, she'll fall for pretty boy Diggory again, and we all know what happened last time."

                Actually, he didn't. Cedric was alive? When he found Ron, Harry resolved, things would be different. Clearer. Hopefully.

***

                Except that finding Ron Weasley was harder then it initially seemed. The train arrived at Hogwarts in the usual fashion, and Harry was ushered unceremoniously into one of the thestral drawn carriages, Draco glued to his side, "I hate those things."

                "Thestrals?" Harry asked, surprised. In this alternate universe, it occurred to him, what with everything being so happy-fine-and-dandy, it was rather strange that he could see the thestrals, much less Draco Malfoy, whom Harry used to think would cringe and run away at the very syllabic sound of death, and probably keel over in a swoon at the sight. 

                "Yes," Draco shivered, "They're so creepy in the pictures Professor Grubbly-Plank shows us. It's so strange that you can see them. But then, I suppose it's creepier not being able to see them, don't you think? Still knowing they're there."

                Well, at least some things never change. Draco Malfoy would probably still vomit at the sight of blood. Then it occurred to him, "Mal-er, Draco? Why can I see the thestrals again?"

                The blonde stared at him incredulously, "Have you gone daft?"

                "Possibly," he replied amiably. The castle was approaching and that same sense of relief he always felt when nearing home was washing over his body. Although for once, he almost wished he'd stayed away from Hogwarts, if only to get to know his parents. 

                That was when his first great realization struck, "Sirius!"

                "What?" Draco rolled his eyes, already adjusting to this new, strangely appealing, confused Harry.

                "Sirius," Harry said slowly, "Draco, that's it. I'll just ask him."

                "Sirius Black? That goody-goody?" he wrinkled his nose as the carriage rolled to a stop, "Why would you want to talk to him."

                "I'd bet he can explain everything to me," Harry recalled the picture in his parents' house of his godfather sitting languidly in some cluttered office, the same old smirk tugging at his lips, "He always can."

                "Since when have we developed this new idolatry of my uncle?" he made finger quotation marks as he said the word uncle, "Mum always says he's a blood-traitor. Then again, mum's slightly off her rocker," Draco shrugged, "So I guess I should take what she says with a grain of salt."

                "Or a million grains," Harry threw up his hands, wandering out onto the grounds. A group of nervous first years were gathered at the doors, already being ushered inside by two weary looking figures, the head boy and girl, he supposed, while the rest of the school stood outside, chatting and gossiping away, "Sirius is great."

                "You think everything's great. I really doubt whatever your question is, Black can answer it. He's been vying for a promotion at the ministry for years, and no one will give it to him because he's too…moronic. Mum and Aunty Bella say he was a nasty playboy back in his day. He's gone to waste now."

                Harry cringed at the mention of Bellatrix. That bitch had killed Sirius. Why that little, "Draco? How is your Aunty Bella?"

                "She's fine. You'll see her in a little while, with the way you're accident prone. She is the nurse, you know," Draco let out a hearty laugh, "Bellatrix Snape, school nurse. Five years ago, who would have figured?"

                Shocked still, Harry only managed, "N-nurse? What happened to Madame Pomfrey?"

                Narrowing his eyes, Draco turned on him, "Okay, Potter. Enough with all the weird questions. You're freaking me out, okay? Geez, it's like you have no idea that the old hag is dead."

                "Well I didn't," the dark-haired boy cried, then stopped, "I mean I didn't want to-uh, you know, tread into bad waters, or anything."

                Great, he told himself, that made no sense. Now Malfoy's going to suspect. You big git.

                "You're such a prat, Potter," Malfoy muttered, "Look, they're letting us go in."

                Sure enough, the crowd in the courtyard was flooding into the Great Hall, passing by all the anxious first years huddled near the stair well. Basking in the very familiarity of it all, Harry proceeded to part from Draco and head straight for the Gryffindor table. Only to be stopped by a very large, very angry redhead. 

In this dimension, apparently, Ron Weasley had experienced a large growth spurt, looming almost a foot above Harry's head, "What the hell do you think you're doing, Potter?" 

***

Sorry, so short. But the next chapter will come soon. Promise. *crosses fingers* For hope, I swear, I'm crossing my fingers for hope and um, luck. R+R, **please?**


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